I love to eat slowly. To linger over flavors, taking my time to finish meals. This is now categorized in: 'Unpleasant Sacrifices from Having Children,' right after 'Sleep' and 'Shopping.'
After a particularly trying afternoon involving tiny particles of styrofoam flung in every nook in cranny by three little girls, I was done. Took too long to clean up. Then, all three had the nerve to turn down dinner, completely. It was hamburgers, peeps. But no, even though they were hungry, hamburgers weren't going to hack it.
My Angry-Mother-O-Meter was tipping off at Pretty-Pissed, so I sent the hooligans outside, and darn it, I was going to eat my awesome burger at the pace I wanted, no little fingers in my food or spilled milk. I enjoyed my meal with my husband......
Now imagine one of those split screens they did in old movies, a la Bye Bye Birdie or How to Marry a Millionaire. This is what the twins were doing while I was feasting:
Jo and Millie stopped up the sink drain in the bathroom, and filled it to overflowing. Then they marched in bowls and handfuls of mud. Mud in the sink, mud on the walls, mud on the toilet, IN the toilet, in the shower, on the floor, in their potties, on the bathmat, shower curtain, everywhere. Mud.
I made them clean it up. They had to do some serious work. Don't care that they are only 3, they can't do this, and they know it is wrong. I still spent an hour cleaning after they worked. Of course this made them all weepy and cranky (because they were HUNGRY), and now my Angry-Mother-O-Meter was not even registering.
Somehow I managed to calm them down, sang them some songs, we said some prayers, we said apologies.
Now I'm going to eat a huge bowl of ice cream, and enjoy every bite, slowly.